


Nobody Wins

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the Bad Touches, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Choices, Electrocution, Exhibitionism, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Why do I do this, nothing about this is consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <br/>Somehow the guys get kidnapped and thrown into adjacent cells. They can all see and hear each other. When the bad guys come in, they offer a deal. One of them can volunteer to get gangbanged and the other two will be spared. Dean volunteers while Cas and Sam immediately protest, but Dean convinces them he'll be okay, nothing he hasn't experienced in Hell, etc. Cas and Sam still loudly protest, but Dean makes his decision and the captors tell Cas and Sam the quieter they are the less they'll hurt Dean.<br/>I'd like to see how each of them deal with it. Dean getting gangbanged by multiple men in the middle cell, in full view of Cas and Sam. They can hear everything, but they're helpless to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Wins

The glass between them was smooth, almost oily, and Sam’s fingers left streaks when he pressed his palms against it.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m up,” his brother grumbled, rousing from his slumped position on the floor. It took him a moment to orient to the new surroundings.

“The fuck-?”

“Not sure. Check Cas.” Sam gestured to the figure in the far cell. He could see Cas’s outline under his trench coat, sprawled across the concrete floor in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable position. Dean knelt by the barrier, slapping his palm against the glass.

“Cas?”

The angel groaned, shifting slightly. His eyes cracked open, but the world seemed too blurry and bright.

“Dean?”

“Yeah buddy, I’m here. You okay? Anything broken?”

Castiel rolled cautiously onto his side, taking a mental inventory.

“Nothing severe. Is Sam-?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Either of you remember anything?”

Dean closed his eyes, thinking back. There had been the werewolves, and then the bar, and then the other bar, and then the other _other_ bar…

“Just being drunk,” he reported. Castiel nodded.

“I remember you being drunk, too. Sam and I tried to take you back to the hotel, but you were quite adamant that we do shots and karaoke.”

“Maybe we’re in lockup?” Sam ventured. He couldn’t remember being arrested, but it wouldn’t be the first time a Winchester had found themselves on the wrong side of a drunk and disorderly.

Dean glanced at his brother.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Why?”

Dean inclined his head toward the high ceiling. The back walls were cement, like the floor, but the front walls and ceiling were made from crosshatched bars, and hanging from the ceiling-

“Those do not look like standard issue law enforcement restraints,” Castiel observed, looking over the sets of leather cuffs dangling over their heads. He reached up, trying to get a hold of his, but they were too high up.

“Djinn?” Sam guessed, looking grimly up at the restraints.

“Maybe? But then why are we awake?”

“Maybe we aren’t.”

Dean shook his head.

“We’d be dreaming about having wishes come true, this doesn’t fit.”

“It could be werewolves. What else keeps people alive to feed?”

“Hippie vampires?”

Castiel wrapped his hands around the bars that comprised the front of his cell. He dug his feet into the concrete and shoved.

No effect.

It didn’t mean they were warded- as a fallen angel, Castiel was only fractionally stronger than his physique would suggest. Then again, it didn’t mean they _weren’t_ warded.

“This experiment has taught us nothing,” he said wearily, staring through the bars. There was nothing to see- the cells opened into a corridor and on the far side of the corridor was a cinderblock wall. It wasn’t even painted.

“Weapons check,” Sam said after a minute. They dug through their pockets, laying out the contents.

The results were not reassuring.

Sam and Dean were missing their guns, and all three angel blades were likewise missing. Dean was missing the hunting knife he usually kept at his hip. Sam’s flask of holy water was gone, but Dean still had his. All three of them had the small satchels of salt that they carried as a precaution. Sam’s wooden rosary was still in his pocket, but Dean and Cas were missing the small silver blades they kept in their sleeves. Dean was missing the shotgun shells he was pretty sure he’d had in his jacket pocket. Also missing was the silver ring he always wore.

Possibly the most perplexing discovery was that Cas was missing his belt, a fact which seemed to bolster Dean’s ‘hippie vampire’ theory.

Their captors didn’t seem overly anxious to reveal their identities, leaving the three of them to stew in their own juices for more than an hour before making an appearance.

Somewhere in the darkness, a door opened, letting in a little light. Seconds later, the sounds of boots on metal stairs was joined by laughter. The hunters scrambled to their feet, anticipating a fight. Dean wound his fingers through the bars, trying to get a look at whatever was coming. Sam retreated to the back of his cell, hoping to give himself the widest vantage point possible.

“So according to _one_ set of ID,” a voice said, “you three are Winchesters?”

The speaker came into view, a man in his mid-forties. He was dressed in business casual, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up nearly to his elbows. Slung over one shoulder was a satchel.

“Our reputation precedes us, then?” Dean asked. The man shook his head. Dean could see others behind him, at least one, maybe two. The shadows were too deep to tell for sure.

“Never heard of you.”

“Christo,” Sam murmured, and the man gave him an odd look.

“You say something?”

“Are you Winchesters or not?” one of the figures in the back asked, stepping into the light and glaring at the captives. Dean’s eyes flicked to Castiel, who shrugged. He hadn’t known the angel was using their name on his IDs.

“Seemed more appropriate than Novak,” Castiel said, by way of explanation.

“Damn right,” Sam interjected before Dean could say anything.

“Not related by blood, then?” the second man asked. He sounded mildly disappointed and Sam wondered if they hadn’t run afoul of some witches.

“We are,” he said, gesturing to himself and Dean.

“Family don’t end with blood,” Dean growled.

“But if your plan requires blood relatives, it’s not going to work,” Sam concluded. The third man, the one still bathed in shadow, let out a snort.

“I don’t think ‘plan’ is quite the word for it. You drink like brothers, so I figure that’s close enough.”

He stepped into the light now, pausing directly outside the door to Sam’s cell. He was a little younger than the man with the satchel, also dressed professionally in suit pants and a waistcoat.

“C’mere,” he said to Sam, crooking his finger through the bars. Sam hesitated, preferring the back of his cell even more, now that he knew he was wanted elsewhere.

“I’m here,” Dean said, leaning closer against the bars of his own cell. “Way more fun than him, anyway,” he said, indicating Sam.

“I don’t doubt it,” Waistcoat said with a feral smile. “But I want to see his face.”

“I think you can see it just fine from there, slick,” Dean answered. His easy smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“No, no, I really want to see the look in his eyes, when he realizes,” Waistcoat said, not taking his gaze off Sam.

“Realizes what?” Castiel asked.

“What’s happening here,” the second man answered. He looked similar to the third, but older, his hair salt and pepper instead of black.

“And what is that?” Castiel pressed, his gruff voice even as ever. “Witchcraft?”

Gray quirked an eyebrow.

“Been watching a few too many movies, have we?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed.

“On the contrary, I’m often told that I haven’t seen _enough-”_

“So, no witchcraft,” Dean interrupted. “And this isn’t really Crowley’s scene, so what’s the deal.”

“Since you asked?” Satchel replied. “You’re here to get fucked.”

Dean’s stomach turned to ice. His gaze flashed to Sammy, he couldn’t help it.

Sam, to his credit, didn’t look scared. To be honest, he looked like he was still trying to figure out what the words meant. He was turning them over in his head, trying to fit them into a pattern that had meaning in relation to their current predicament.

Dean could see the exact second the words clicked into place, Sam’s eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Waistcoat cackled.

Castiel was still confused.

“Then why do you need brothers?”

“It makes the next part more fun,” Waistcoat answered. He was looking back and forth between Sam and Dean now, like he thought they were going to do something brilliant and he didn’t want to miss it.

‘We’ll give you an out,” Gray said. “A choice. We can have a couple sessions of one-on-one-”

“Or,” Satchel interrupted, “one of you can volunteer to be our special little slut, and the other two get a free pass.”

“That’s not-” Castiel started, but Dean had already cut him off.

“I’ll do it.”

For a moment, their captors almost looked shocked.

“Dean, you don’t have to do this. Sam and I can handle ourselves.”

Dean shook his head. He knew Cas would get through it fine, but Sam? Not Sam.

“I’ll do it,” he repeated, louder. Waistcoat looked almost pissed.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam said. “There’s no reason for you to do this alone.”

“I’ve done it before, in the pit, and I was fine. No reason to put you two through something I’ve already handled.”

Sam’s face paled. He knew Dean had been tortured down below, and he’d suspected that some of it had been sexual, but Dean had never said anything about it and Sam had always been content not to ask.

“So open the door, let’s get this show on the road,” Dean said, gesturing to the door and making a ‘hurry up’ gesture.

“Aren’t we impatient?” Gray asked. Dean rolled his eyes, cutting a glance over to Cas as if to ask the angel if he was seeing this.

“Yeah, very clever. Are we gonna go, or-?”

“Strip.” Gray commanded. Dean found himself momentarily without comeback.

“What, here? Not gonna take me out for dinner first?”

“Changing your mind?” Satchel asked. Dean sobered.

“No.”

“No, _sir,_ ” Gray corrected.

“Are you serious?”

“You have sixty seconds to strip before we take it out on the other two,” Gray said evenly.

Dean opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then glanced at Sam and thought better of it. He shrugged out of his overshirt, casting it to the side before pulling his worn tshirtover his head.

Sam was no stranger to the sight of Dean’s scarred body. He’d seen Dean bloody, beaten, and stripped. He’d seen Dean in the middle of frankly _too many_ romantic encounters. Hell, he’d seen Dean _dead._ But this time seemed somehow different.

Dean’s hands fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and Sam looked away.

“Nuh-uh,” Waistcoat said. “You watch.”

He said it immediately, like he’d been waiting for Sam’s reaction.

Sam dragged his eyes back to his brother. Dean met his haze, grinning a little and shrugging.

He was trying to look confident. Trying maybe too hard, and that’s why he was failing. Cas couldn’t miss the hesitation when he sat down on the floor and tugged at his boot laces.

“Twenty seconds,” Gray reminded him.

“I’m _going,_ ” Dean snapped, and Cas heard the tremor in his voice.

“Dean, let me. I can do it. This isn’t even my vessel-”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Dean grumbled, kicking his boots off. “You about pissed yourself trying to get with a _hooker,_ there’s no way I’m letting your first time be like this.”

He stood up again, pushing his jeans and boxers down over his hips without further preamble.

“There. Naked,” he said, facing their captors and gesturing to his body. Castiel looked at him sadly. In the scheme of things, it hadn’t been that long since he’d raised Dean from the pit, but the number of scars he’d managed to accumulate in the meantime was disheartening. Castiel wasn’t stupid enough to hope that the righteous man wouldn’t earn himself a few more before this was over.

“Pass it through,” Satchel said, gesturing to the clothes. Dean obliged, folding them in half so they’d slide through the bars.

“I want those jeans back,” he said as he handed them over. “Can we go now?”

“Oh, no,” Waistcoat said, stepping forward to unlock the door. “We’re doing this right here.”

Dean paled slightly, but recovered. He backed away as the men stepped through the door.

“Kinda spartan, isn’t it? In hell there were beds. I think it was a psychological-”

Gray slapped him, and Sam could see his brother resisting the instinct to fight back, hard. Castiel started to say something but before he could get further than Dean’s name, Gray had stepped forward and buried a fist in Dean’s ribs. Dean went to his knees, his arms wrapped around his chest, breath coming in a sharp hiss.

“Stop it, he’s doing what you said!” Sam shouted, and Gray didn’t even look at him, just kicked Dean once in the side, hard.

“In case it’s not obvious, I’m done with your opinions for the day,” Gray said, his voice low. “I don’t want to hear a damn thing from either of you for the rest of the evening.”

He crouched down and grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair, forcing his head back. “The only thing I want to hear out of _you_ is ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ and there’s plenty of fun and interesting things we can do to your mouth if you deviate. Clear?”

Dean set his jaw and for a moment, Sam saw the creature that had stalked him through the bunker with a hammer. But Dean blinked and it was gone.

“Yes sir,” Dean said, a mocking edge to his voice. Gray sighed. He dropped his grip on Dean’s hair and retreated, gesturing to Waistcoat. The smaller man stepped forward, grinning.

“Close, but not quite there yet,” he said with a smile. “Fortunately we’ve done a little bit of work adjusting attitudes here.” He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a long black scarf. “You’re going to need to be blindfolded for this next part. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to hold still for it. Think carefully; would you like to be shackled?”

He gestured to the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Dean looked up at them, smirked, and opened his mouth to reply.

He caught Castiel’s eyes and the words died in his throat. This was one of the situations where fighting back and taking a beating might be the only way to keep his dignity intact, but it was one thing to provoke a beating. It was another to provoke a beating someone else had to watch you take. He swallowed, looking up at the cuffs.

“Yes sir,” he said quietly. Waistcoat nodded and Satchel stepped back out of the cell, finding the controls to the chain. Dean stood, backing toward the wall seemingly without realizing. He kept his eyes firmly on his own hands as they were buckled into the thick leather cuffs.

The chain retracted into the ceiling with a _whirr_ and Dean felt his arms being drawn up. The chain didn’t pull tight, stopping when his hands were just over his head. The last thing he saw was Waistcoat stepping forward to secure the scarf around his eyes.

Sam’s gaze dropped to the floor. He didn’t know what Dean’s punishment might entail, and even watching the preparation was damn near unbearable. He knew Dean was doing it to protect him and Cas, but having his strong, proud older brother stripped and bound this way was more than he could watch.

“That’s one,” Gray murmured, and Sam realized that Gray was talking to him. “I told you to watch. So there’s one extra. And another one every time you drop those pretty eyes of yours.”

“I can’t-” Sam started, and then froze because Gray was grinning at him. Just waiting for an excuse. Very slowly, he forced himself to look back at Dean.

“You too, Blue,” Gray said, glancing over at Castiel. “You look right at him and watch what he’s putting up with for you.”

The darkness was beginning to make Dean uneasy. He’d had plenty of fights in the dark, was trained to use his other senses to make up the difference. But here, there was nothing he could do to fight back, even if he could tell what was happening.

The synchronized gasps from Castiel and Sam didn’t do much to improve his confidence, and he pulled toward the back of the cell before he could stop himself.

“Would one of you like to tell him what you see?” Waistcoat asked. There was a pause.

“It’s a cattle prod,” Sam murmured after a moment.

“The fuck, _really?”_

Dean was pulling against the restraints in earnest now, but they held fast. He heard a chuckle and they began retracting further into the ceiling, pulling his arms taut and restricting his motion even more.

“That’s another one,” Gray said, a note of faux remorse in his voice. “You three don’t take orders well, do you?”

Something cold rested against Dean’s chest and he wrenched away, he couldn’t help it. There was a smattering of laughter and Dean was suddenly grateful for the cuffs. He had to do this. He had to get through it and if he was being honest with himself, he probably didn’t have what it took to stand still.

The cold metal pressed to his chest again and this time he didn’t flinch, just waited. His breath wouldn’t come evenly, panic crawling up the base of his spine as he waited for the shock. In an instant he was back in that basement with the rawhead, a hundred thousand volts surging through his heart-

He couldn’t breathe. He arched his body away from the metal tool, his breath coming hard and fast. A high pitched whining filled his ears and then his chest was on fire, the muscles clenching and spasming as the current travelled across his skin.

The spark was tiny, nothing like the ribbons of blue light that had enveloped Dean the last time, but the scream was the same. Sam forced himself to keep his eyes on his brother’s body, determined not to add another shock to the punishment. Dean hung panting from the restraints, and Sam bit down hard on his tongue, trying to keep the words in. There was nothing he could say that would make them stop, or make Dean’s predicament any more bearable. The urge was there nonetheless, never in his life had Sam simply stood silent and watched.

The twin prongs of the prod moved over Dean’s body slowly, like a caress from a lover. The first shock had been in the center of his chest, giving him an idea of what it might feel like. Now, Castiel watched them trail down the exposed skin of Dean’s underarm, frame the sides of one pink nipple, then slide over the ridge of each individual rib. Dean’s breath heaved and caught and Castiel was reminded of the scarred, broken thing he had dragged from the pit. Dean’s skin had been burned dark, scarred deep and drenched in blood. He’d held a blade in each hand, but his eyes held fear, not malice. Castiel had seen them once and known in that very moment that he would never leave Dean behind.

The prongs ghosted over his iliac crest and Dean whimpered through a clenched jaw. The prod whined again and Dean jerked back with a scream. Satchel laughed, running his fingers over the reddening skin he had just shocked. The prod whined again and this time the prongs kissed the skin on either side of Dean’s navel. There was nowhere for him to retreat to, his arms already stretching their bonds to the limit. Instead, his jittering muscles pushed him forward, into the current. Castiel forced himself not to look away, not to meet Sam’s horrified gaze from across the cell.

“So,” Waistcoat said, watching the inert prod wander over Dean’s flushed skin, “the next one, you’re getting for being mouthy. Where do you think we should do it? Where would be an appropriate place to punish a mouthy little slut?”

He reached up and cupped the side of Dean’s face, running a thumb almost tenderly over the hunter’s lower lip. The smile on his face was cruel as he glanced over to Castiel.

“Where do you think, Blue?”

Castiel glared back, and Waistcoat pretended to pout.

“Well if _you_ don’t know then we’ll just have to keep doing it until we find the right-”

“Throat,” Castiel bit out. He didn’t miss the way Dean swallowed when he said it. The skin there was sensitive, it would hurt, but Castiel had the horrible image of these men forcing his mouth open, forcing him to suck the metal tips-

He forced the idea out of his head. He didn’t want it jumping somehow from his mind to theirs.

Satchel smiled, pressing the tip of the prod against the underside of Dean’s chin. The hard points left divots in the soft skin.

“That’s a good idea, and it didn’t take nearly as long as it could have,” Satchel said. “Tell him ‘thank you’, slut, and then we’ll get it over with.”

Dean opened his mouth slightly, licking his lips.   
“Thank you, Cas,” he said quietly, and the nickname became a scream as the prod shocked him again. Castiel pressed his hands to the glass, wishing there were something he could do for his friend. When he had his grace, he could hear Dean’s prayers from the other side of the cosmos.

He wondered if Dean was praying now.

“There was one more,” Gray said when Dean had almost caught his breath. “Your brother didn’t want to watch you strip. What do we hit for that?”

The prod trailed down’s Dean’s stomach, and his tear-streaked face visibly paled as it headed lower. It rasped over the hair of his treasure trail, heading still lower and Dean twisted, trying to pull away. Gray laughed, letting the prongs rest gently at the root of Dean’s soft cock. He arched away but it followed, pushing deep into the tender skin.

“Here, do you think?” Gray asked.

“ _Please,_ no,” Dean whimpered, biting his lip too late. He braced himself, waiting for the pain. To his surprise, the prod dropped away.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you skip this last one, and you show me how grateful you are by sucking me off. How’s that sound?”

Dean wrinkled his nose and Gray laughed.

“Oh, you’ll be taking my load down that pretty throat of yours one way or the other. It’s just much better when we don’t have to force your mouth open. So what do you say? Want to trade the last jolt for a blowjob?”

Dean barely hesitated before answering.

“Yes, sir.”

The chain dropped and the cuffs were unhooked before Dean was shoved roughly to his knees. Gray retreated to the corridor and came back with a rough wooden chair. Dean heard it scraping across the concrete and settling directly in front of him.

He heard someone drop down into it and then they had him by the hair. He struggled to catch his weight on his cuffed hands, and then his face was being shoved down. The man was rock hard inside his slacks and he thrust upwards, grinding into Dean’s skin. Waistcoat was laughing. Someone slapped his ass.

“Like that, whore?” Gray growled from above him, and then the grip on his hair was gone.

Sam’s eyes fixed on the small of Dean’s back. There was a cluster of freckles and a small horizontal scar. It was something to focus on, and when he looked there, he didn’t have to watch Gray taking his cock out of his pants. He didn’t have to watch him shoving Dean down onto the length of it. He didn’t have to watch Dean’s bound hands clenching and unclenching as the other man began fucking his open mouth.

He watched the freckles, and the scar, and he didn’t have to see Waistcoat kneeling behind Dean. He didn’t see the man pulling his brother’s legs apart, didn’t see him spread a thin, shiny liquid over the cleft of Dean’s ass.

And then Waistcoat’s hands were on Dean’s hips, blocking out the view of the freckles, and the scar, and Sam lost focus. He heard his brother’s pained scream as Waistcoat shoved his way inside.

Sam looked desperately for another place to focus. He couldn’t look away, not unless he wanted them to hurt Dean worse, but there was nowhere to look. Not at Gray’s hands, fisted in Dean’s blonde hair. Not his brother’s bound hands, his heaving chest, the sweat running cold down his shoulders, his cock hanging soft between his legs. There was nowhere to look but even if he closed his eyes, he couldn’t escape the sounds.

Castiel had no frame of reference for this. He had been struck and burned and cut and even shocked, but he had no comparison for what was happening to Dean. Each hard thrust shoved the hunter’s body forward and drew a choked gasp from his throat, half-smothered by the thick cock buried in his mouth. Everything they did to him had been a cruel parody of a lover’s touch, and Castiel could only imagine that this was more of the same.

Tears streamed down Dean’s face as he choked, a fact which only seemed to inspire a faster and harder fucking from both sides.

“Ready to swallow, whore?”

Dean wasn’t able to reply but they weren’t really waiting for one anyway. Gray groaned as he shot his load into Dean’s mouth.

“Swallow it,” the man commanded, and Dean obeyed silently. Waistcoat grabbed him around the throat, pulling him flush and fucking up into him as Satchel and Gray changed places. Dean couldn’t see what was happening, he just knew that when he was shoved back down, there was another cock waiting for him.

His mouth tasted salty and bitter and dry and his throat was on fire. It was taking everything he had not to puke, but at least the effort kept his mind off what was happening behind him. He’d have handprint bruises on his hips, but the tearing wasn’t too bad. He was pretty sure he’d had worse and he tried not to dwell on that.

At least the last time, he’d been able to keep it a secret. Everything that had happened to him in hell, he got through it knowing that Sammy was okay, Sammy was topside, Sammy was alive and not lying dead in the mud with a knife in his spine. It seemed worth it, usually, but more importantly, it gave him a bright spark to hold onto when everything else was darkness and pain.

The man behind him finished with a groan and they both withdrew. Dean wavered for a second and then he was being yanked up onto his knees. The cuffs disconnected with a _click_ and his arms were wrenched behind him.

He tried not to imagine what he looked like as his face was shoved down into the concrete and he was skewered again from behind, the spit-slick cock sliding through the cum filling his abused hole. He didn’t think he’d be making eye contact with Sam or Cas any time soon.

Castiel watched Dean’s hands clenching uselessly against his back. Satchel’s hand was on the back of his neck, holding him down while he fucked into him. Gray had gone up the staircase for a smoke and Waistcoat had followed, and in their absence, Castiel risked a glance at Sam. The hunter’s face was ashen, his eyes unfocused but dutifully resting on his brother. Castiel looked back guiltily, hoping that Satchel hadn’t noticed.

“Sam?”

The sound was horribly broken, and all the worse because Sam had heard it before.

He didn’t dare answer back, fearing that any comfort he could give would be overridden by whatever additional torment their captors decided to deliver.

Satchel, though, only laughed, reaching up and pulling off the blindfold.

“He’s watching, beautiful,” he laughed at Dean’s shocked gasp. Hazel eyes met green and Sam had only a moment to recognize the look there, and then Dean had hooked his legs around Satchel’s thighs and shoved backwards.

Dean was hurt and bound, but he had the element of surprise. Satchel was down before he could shout, one of Dean’s knees pressing down onto his windpipe. He sank a fist into Dean’s gut but the hunter didn’t budge, putting all his efforts into remaining upright.

Dean kept the pressure up several minutes after Satchel went still. The cuffs hooked together with a clip, not a key, and once Satchel was dead he removed them easily.

Gray had left the door to the cell open when he left, and Dean stepped easily over the threshold- no warding, no magic, no sigils. Just people.

He smacked the buttons on the control panel and the other two doors swung open.

“Dean,” Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“No chick flick moments. And no hugging me while I’m naked, dude.”

His jeans were puddled on the floor and he pulled them on gingerly.

“I’m off dish duty for like, six months,” he informed them before Castiel could add anything. He glanced up the darkened staircase. “Now let’s go hunt some fucking monsters.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Iris on "Hydra." 
> 
> No funny note on this one. I'm posting real quick and then I gotta go take a virgin to a sex shop and teach her how to buy a dildo.


End file.
